


Batgirl's #1 Fan, or Nell Little's First Case as Amateur Detective (Sorta)

by doomteacosy



Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Pre-New 52
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 05:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18046790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomteacosy/pseuds/doomteacosy
Summary: Nell Little figured out who Batman was when she was twelve.It's not really that she actively wanted to know who Batman and company were so much they made it awfully easy to figure out. It really wasn't her fault she put it together. Her mother always told her she was too clever for her own good, but, really, she'd have to have been pretty clueless to not figure it out.





	Batgirl's #1 Fan, or Nell Little's First Case as Amateur Detective (Sorta)

**Author's Note:**

> Thiiis... was started, like, 6 years ago. But I wanted to finish it, just bc I'm fond of some parts of it, so here it is. I can't even remember if there was a solid fanon personality for Nell, since there's so little of her that she's basically an OC, but like, YOLO~ 
> 
> This is absolutely a "Nell Little's Road to Batgirldom" prologue. Mostly me working out my take on her so I could use her for other sorta future fic? Steph stuff and Damian Wayne having Friends. 
> 
> Also I could not think of a freaking title for this, so this is what we get....

Nell Little was never one for worshiping at the altar of the Bat. If he really did exist, he didn't really seem like her kind of guy.

(The evidence that he did exist was, of course, pretty overwhelming irrefutable at this point, but when she treated him like big foot people got almost comically insulted and she was, in rare occasions, a little bit petty about it all.)

When she was eight she informed her mother she wanted to move to Metropolis, because Gotham was awful and Superman always looked really sweet in his pictures. (The earthquake that year, which felt like an incredibly bizarre dream to her now, did not help this attitude.)

When she was nine her friend told her about meeting Batgirl. She said she was kinda scary when she was fighting, but surprisingly sweet for someone wearing a stitched up mask covering her whole face. Nell decided to at least re-evaluate her stance on Gotham vigilantes as a whole being unsalvageable. And she liked that there was this girl who was caring but powerful. Who could look like anything under the mask.

When Nell was eleven she met a Batgirl herself—less scary-nice and more headstrong and hopeful.

It was all downhill from there, really.

It's not that she actively _wanted_ to know who Batman and company were, so much that they made it awfully easy to figure out. It really wasn't her fault she put it together. Her mother had always told her she was too clever for her own good, but, honestly, she'd have to have been pretty clueless to not put the pieces together.

-

Batgirl was missing.

Well, Batgirl was _possibly_ missing.

She hadn't been seen around Gotham in weeks. No daring rescues, no quips for the bystanders. The internet tracked the various birds and bats pretty well nowadays, and while all of her vigilante friends were swinging around the city (or another city, or space), the purple and gold of Nell's Batgirl were nowhere to be seen.

After deliberating for a couple weeks, she decided someone had to do something, and... well, patience was one of those virtues that skipped a generation in the Little family.

She had never pieced together who Batgirl was. She hadn't even wanted to figure out who Batman and Robin were, after all. It was just that Damian Wayne had made it outrageously easy. From there it was a little hard _not_ to notice which of Bruce Wayne's extended family met the bill for the other Birds and Bats around him. That more people hadn't figured it out was a little bewildering.

But trying to figure out who Batgirl was always a little harder. And, well... maybe Nell was a little afraid of figuring out who Batgirl was. Like unmasking her personal hero would somehow change things. She would be human and fallible and maybe even boring. She could be a rich Wayne cousin, whose optimism came from a place of not knowing what it was actually like to live in Gotham.

It was a dangerous thing to place someone on a pedestal, and even more dangerous to learn how wrong you were.

But now Nell needed to know.

And once Nell _needed_ to know, well... it was easy.

If she had wanted to, she could have pieced it together ages ago. The smiling blond in the back of a gala photo, laughing at one Timothy Drake-Wayne. The girl with her arm hooked through the arm of Wayne's one daughter, Cassandra, while they smiled and hung back from the crowd. She didn’t show up in all of them, she wasn’t part of the actual family, but Nell was sure.

She'd know that smile anywhere.

Finally, after a search that would have been a lot easier if she was the kind of person who could peruse guest lists, or whatever real detectives did, and not someone digging through news articles on a school computer, one photo was captioned with a name. Stephanie Brown.

She was a nobody, so far as Nell could tell. Or, well, compared to the Wayne family there wasn’t a whole lot about her to figure out.

Actually finding her, however, seemed like it was going to be a whole lot harder. Nell was clever, but at the end of the day she could only think of so much to do with the internet on a public computer. She wasn't a hacker. She wasn't a detective. She was barely even a teenager.

If she wanted to know, she was going to have to do something drastic.

-

Saturday morning she slipped her good walking shoes on, stuffed her maps and bus schedule in her backpack, thanked God her mom thought she was responsible enough to "go to the library for a school project" all day without needing supervision, and hopped on a bus.

Of course, the end of the bus line was a whole five miles from Wayne manor and Nell _seriously_ underestimated how long a walk five miles was.

After about a mile she decided she hated Batman and Robin. After three she added Batgirl to the list, and was beginning to seriously regret not putting a snack in her backpack, even if she also regretted carrying a backpack. By the time she saw the menacing black gates on the horizon, Nell thought they were probably one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen.

When she finally pressed the button she felt her heart give a tiny flutter. She was standing at Batman's gate, getting ready to demand answers from him. It was a little surreal, and possibly stupid.

Kinda scary?

Before she could follow that train of thought, the speaker crackled to life and she was addressed by a polite British voice. "May I help you?"

"I, um, was wondering if you wanted to buy girl scout cookies," was the first lie that tumbled out of her mouth. She inwardly kicked herself. Hard.

There was a very long pause followed by the gates creaking open. The walk to the door was blessedly shorter than the walk from the bus, but it still felt like it took a million years, and the door had opened before she even actually stepped up to it. The man who greeted her was ridiculously tall, British and well-dressed. Apparently rich people still had butlers and, _wow_ , that was weird. Like, really weird.

Freaking Batman-slash-Bruce-freaking-Wayne.

"Particularly dedicated to selling girl scout cookies, aren't we, young lady?"

God, she was lying to Batman's butler and he _totally_ knew it. She could see it in his too-kind little eyes.

"Um," she squeaked, and then cleared her throat. "Well, um, you look like you could afford them. And people around here tend to take pity on girls who look like they just walked five miles."

He raised an eyebrow at her and she plastered on her most saleswoman-worthy smile. "You should see the incentives this year. Girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, you know."

The lies. They just kept pouring out.

Batman didn't murder people, but she wasn't always sure about everyone else. And it wasn't like they didn't have enough money to find some other way to get rid of her. Was she going to end up on the back of milk cartons? Did they even still do that?

This was _such_ a bad idea.

"If you'll just wait a moment— "

"Wait!"

He turned back and raised that same eyebrow at her again.

"While I'm here, uh... is Damian here?" After a pause she added, "We were classmates."

Oh, sure. Classmates with Damian Wayne for the five seconds he was at Gotham Academy was totally plausible and a reason to visit him. (And, wow, she knew way too much about them all now. Creepy. She was creepy.) And even if it _was_ , she didn’t particularly look like she went there, with her beat up sneakers, faded jacket, and hair sticking to her sweaty neck. She didn't think she could pass as one of Gotham's wealthy elite on a good day, and she didn't particularly think walking five miles to sell girl scout cookies was something a Gotham Academy student would do. Not to mention Damian would know whether or not they were classmates.

She didn’t even know why she asked for Damian, but it wasn’t like she could ask Batman’s butler about Batgirl. That just seemed… awkward. Besides, friends for five seconds on a field trip while he pretended to be a student had to count for _something_ , right? It even almost made them being classmates not a lie.

This was a mess.

"If you'll come in, Miss.... I'm sorry, what was your name?”

What was the use in lying anymore anyway? "Nell. Nell Little."

"Well, if you'll come in for a moment, Miss Little, I'll see if I can find young master Wayne so you two can... chat."

He turned and led her through a hallway that looked like it belonged in some melodramatic costume drama. The carpet was plush, the floors were polished and perfect, and the tables along the walls were ornate and covered with crystal bowls and various other knickknacks.

People really lived like this. She was sort of disgusted. And a little envious, maybe. But mostly disgusted.

Finally she was shown into a large room at the end of the hall. The entire wall opposite the door was covered in windows, their heavy curtains drawn back to let in the light and show the immaculately kept lawn. The _walls themselves_ were fancy. It looked like it all belonged in a movie, and she hadn't even gotten around to looking at the furniture or the freaking chandelier.

She didn't even want to know how much any of it cost. She imagined the amount of money spent on caring for the patch of lawn it looked out on would have set her up for life. They probably called it a "parlor" and considered it too cramped and plain to even leave it open during their _soirées_.

Plus she was pretty sure her whole apartment could fit in here.

Freaking Batman.

"If you'll just wait here a moment, I'll go fetch young master Wayne."

"Uh, sure," she said, still looking around the room.

She frowned at the door as it clicked shut behind him. She did not just hear a lock click, right? They wouldn’t do that. And she wasn’t going to bother checking it. Because she trusted them, and definitely not because she really didn’t need a panic attack right now. Batman didn’t kill— especially not innocent 14 year old girls— and she was just going to keep reminding herself of that fact.

Of his Robins, she couldn’t help but remember that Damian definitely seemed like the most violent, though.

She paced the room for a moment, sat down next to a side table, and began pulling out her notebook and printouts. Would it help to have proof? She didn't particularly think it mattered at this point, but the simple action of taking a seat was enough to calm her down the tiniest bit. It was very possible she really hadn’t thought this through.

She stared down at her notebook and tried very hard to not dwell on the fact that the whole Bat family seemed like a cult. Like, honestly, who went around adopting people and turning them into child soldiers? That was freaking _weird_. They were weird!

And the lawn was still killing her.

-

After what felt like 80 years, but was probably more like 10 minutes, a harried looking Damian Wayne stood in the doorway glaring daggers at her.

He was shorter than she remembered. Or rather, she was taller and he had, hilariously, yet to catch up. She successfully tamped down on the smile that threatened to put on her face.

(Nell Little was _not_ above pettiness in the face of bratty peers who were glowering before she even started speaking.)

"You did not go to Gotham Academy and we are _not_ friends,” he bit out, eyes tracking over her.

"Yeah, well, it's a little more expensive than we can afford. But we went on a field trip together once. That's... sorta similar? And I didn’t say friends." Thought admittedly she’d thought it.

He raised a single, angry little eyebrow. It didn’t hold a candle to her mother’s eyebrow-glare combo, but, given Nell prided herself on having _some_ common sense, that didn’t mean she wasn’t still a little bit unnerved. Batman didn’t murder and so far as she could tell neither did this kid, but the look on his face still made her worry. Just a bit.

Of course, Nell’s brain had never actually been one for keeping her common sense firmly attached to her mouth in stressful situations.

"Did you know lawn culture is economically and environmentally unsound? Like, I'm not saying you're evil for having a lawn. But lawns are definitely not good."

She was babbling. She was babbling at Murder Robin Wayne about the ethics of _lawn culture_. He looked utterly perplexed for a long moment and then the scowl returned, fiercer than ever.

This, of course, was when she up and blurted out, "What happened to Batgirl?"

What happened next was entirely out of her control and she would deny it if ever asked.

The Boy Wonder went stock still for a long moment and the leapt at her over the sofa. (Just straight through the air like a tiny, angry cat.) Which was when she grabbed her notebook off the table and hit him in the face with a strangled, "Ohmygod, stop. Down boy! Down!"

She moved until an armchair was between herself and the boy, who was looking pretty far from happy about all of this, and tightened her grip on her ‘weapon’.

In the doorway the butler huffed an exasperated sigh.

"Master Damian, she hardly seems like a master assassin come to make an attempt on your life."

Part of her wanted to be insulted, but not only was he correct, she was pretty sure that fact was the only thing keeping the boy away from her. Or, it was, until he started stalking slowly circling around the chair and advanced on her until she had pressed herself back against the wall.

The butler, looking rather bored, had taken up position just behind him.

"How do you know," he spat out through clenched teeth.

"I know because you're _stupid_." Again, her common sense did not always properly filter for her mouth in stressful situations.

Thankfully, rather than ending up as some unsolved disappearance herself, what followed was a spluttering noise as the Boy Wonder's collar cut into his neck while a bored looking butler held onto the back of his shirt.

Yeah. She was starting to feel like she really hated Robin.

"My education far surpasses yours."

She pushed him past him, and turned and crossed her arms. " _Please_. When we met on that field trip, you told me your name was Bruce and then when you disappeared Robin showed up to save the day, like, five seconds later. You're in the news all the freaking time. You didn't make it particularly hard. And you're monstrously bad at acting normal anyway."

The last bit was, perhaps, unnecessary.

The look that Damian was giving her was murderous, but the look that the butler was giving him was a good enough mix of exasperation and amusement that she could just barely enjoy the moment.

She took a breath and met Damian’s eyes again. "Really, I just want to know about Batgirl. There's only so much digging I can do on a school computer during my lunch period. It's hard to peg people who aren't Bruce Wayne's wards or adoptees.” Another growl from him, but she soldiered on. “I think she’s Stephanie Brown, but even that’s not getting me anywhere on figuring out where she is. I just wanna know if she’s okay.”

The boy slumped finally, scowl still in place, and the butler released him. "Given this appears to be your fault, Master Damian, I believe I will leave you to handle it. Do try to not kill the young lady."

Nell swore the boy hissed before dropping into the seat across from her and continuing to glare.

"Miss Little, should you need my assistance I am only down the hall.”

He nodded at her and left, leaving her with a boy who suddenly looked every bit a sullen 14 year old.

"Batgirl is otherwise occupied of late," Damian muttered with a huff.

"Then she's still alive?"

He looked up again, studying her with an odd look in his eyes. “Why do you care?"

“I just... do,” she said weakly, feeling suddenly unsure of herself.

“Well, that’s stupid.” He leaned onto the arm of the chair, his cheek resting on his fist and a bored look on his face. “I’m not seeing a reason to tell you based on that.”

“She...” Nell had never had to say this before. She hadn’t even tried to put into words why she cared so much about... any of this. She just did, and that was enough for her.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “She’s always been nice to me? She took the time to remember my name, who I was. And she’s always felt.... important.” Another scoff, but she ignored it. “No, listen… She feels like proof that something good can come out of this crappy city. Something bright, and hopeful. I know she isn’t the only good person running, but she just... I don’t know. She was mine. She meant something to me, and I.... I don’t know.”

Damian stared up at her, brows furrowed and expression inscrutable.

She dropped into the seat across from him. “You’re right, it’s stupid.”

He huffed, shifting in his chair. "Brown is taking a leave from her duties to better focus on her studies, which she deemed equally important."

Nell stopped, turning it over in her head. "She dropped the cape for school?"

“I would say it was for the best, but she seems even less suited for that,” he sniffed, his expression slinking back into the haughty scowl that seemed to be his default.

Nell winced. She imagined patrolling with the brat must have been fun for everyone involved. But that wasn’t her problem. And, more importantly, she had her answer. Batgirl was fine.

He tilted his head back and narrowed his eyes at her. “If you reveal our secret to anyone you and I will have a very different conversation.”

“Understood.” She nodded. Weirdly, she felt a lot less threatened with him actually threatening her (if in a veiled manner) than she did before the conversation started. Maybe it was just because she had swatted him in the face with a notebook. Hard to maintain your threatening image after that. Especially as short as he was.

After a long moment he cleared his throat, raising a single eyebrow. “Then is there a reason you’re still standing in my parlor?”

“I don’t—sorry. I hadn’t really thought about what I was going to do with that answer.”

He scoffed, giving her a look that said he hardly found that surprising and then stood and started for the door himself, obviously meaning for her to follow him and get out of his house. Given he didn’t also actually say anything about it, she almost stood there out of spite, but instead she scrambled to shove her things back into her bag.

She followed him out, past the seeming endless rooms that she was suddenly all too curious about, and stopped at the door. Alfred was there, dusting, and that was still weird.

Damian reached for the door handle, and after a pointed look from the butler, and then turned a sneer that was possibly supposed to be a smile on Nell. “It was pleasant enough visiting with you. Please leave.”

“Wait, could you tell Batgirl—Stephanie—” she faltered, and Damian just raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Just tell her that Nell Little says good luck. And her number one fan is going to be out her working just as hard.”

She got the impression Damian was about to roll his eyes, but Alfred’s hand came down on his shoulder and he smiled. “It would be our pleasure.”

“Right.” She turned and looked out the door, hesitating as she looked out at the sunny day. And the winding road, with the black gates impossibly far away. And the street, somewhere out there beyond view.

“What now?”

"Um,” she said, not meeting his eyes. But what was dignity worth, anyway? “Could I get a ride to the bus stop?”

The boy scoffed. Again. She was really starting to hate that scoff. "You brought this upon yourself.”

Behind him Alfred only smiled. "I believed it can be arranged, yes."

She smiled back, and wondered if maybe someday she might find her way back here again. Stranger things had to happen. Maybe they were weird, and maybe Damian was annoying, but, well... Nell couldn’t help but feel she kinda liked them.


End file.
